by Diane Duane
It doesn’t matter
, Nita thought as she turned over the last twenty pages of the section, doing little more than glancing at them. I’m sure he wasn’t doing a wizardry last night, so none of this stuff applies
She turned back to the search page again. “Give me the co-location stuff now,” she said, not seeing any great point in it, but unwilling to stop until she’d read everything that could have a bearing on the problem.
The manual reduced itself to something more like its normal size, and laid itself open at a much shorter section. Nita glanced at the title page and table of contents for the section, momentarily confused. It was a classifications section on the Orders of Being.
Huh
? she thought. Nita had been through this section every now and then. The time she’d been most interested in it was just after passing her Ordeal, when she was trying to sort out some of the finer details of how wizardry was organized. That version of the information had been thinner than this one, a sort of beginner’s guide; this one was considerably more detailed.
Nita turned the pages, glancing at the master classification listing of created beings in the universe. The listing didn’t go by species, but by type. Good old-fashioned mortals naturally had all the other types outnumbered, but there were still a surprising number of modified mortals and other conditionals. Then came wizards, of which there were hundreds of different types, even within single species. Among her own species, with which Nita would have thought she was moderately familiar by now, there were more classes of wizard than she’d realized.
The standard classes — probationary, post-Ordeal, full wizard, expert wizard, Advisory Senior, Regional, Planetary, Sector — those she’d known about for long enough. But there were also splinter classifications, some categories that didn’t quite fit among either mortal wizards or the Powers That Be. The Transcendent Pig, of course, Nita knew. She smiled slightly as she turned past his page. The picture doesn’t do him justice. Maybe it’s old
But there were many other classifications in this section, too, some of them most obscure. Principalities, thrones, dominations— Thrones? Who wants to be a chair? But maybe I’m missing something here. Who knows? Maybe it’s fun to be furniture.
Nita turned the page over. Pillars? What is this? First furniture, now architecture…
Abdah/“Pillars”
— This category of created being is independent of wizard status but still included because of the sharing of various functions and qualities across species and eschatological barriers. The sobriquet “Pillars” refers to the immense supportive strength inherent in these creatures wherever they appear. The physical and spiritual structure of the Universe and its contents is strengthened against the assaults of evil by the Pillars’ presence, and weakened by their loss. While they occasionally may also be wizards, abdals display no unusual aptitude for the Art: Their value lies elsewhere. Their status comes from direct endowment by the One; their power is derived strictly from the incorrupt nature of their personality. Some have unusual abilities of perception reaching into other universes, while still seeing the entire physical world as mirage. Some have sufficient control over their physical natures to change their bodies at will, without recourse to normal wizardry, or to travel great distances, or to appear in two places at the same time…
Certainty went straight through Nita like a lightning bolt, and not only because of the twoplacesat-once line. It was everything else in combination with that. She thought of the knight, of the strength and bravery she’d sensed in that version of Darryl, and of the power inherent in the robot.
All those experiences were fragments of this bigger picture, pieces of the jigsaw. Nita glanced on down the page.
The Pillars are rarely recognized as such by their contemporaries. Should they become conscious of their own status as abdals, the realization itself renders them ineffective in their role, which is to channel the One’s power without obstruction into the strengthening of the world. Their portion of that power is then lost to the Worlds, and with its loss, the abdal dies.
Nita slapped the manual shut and sat there, actually sweating, for a few moments. The language of the manual could be obscure sometimes, but this time Nita was sure she knew perfectly well what it was talking about when it said the Pillars’ power was “derived strictly from the incorrupt nature of their personality.” It means what Darryl’s got, she thought. Innocence. That plain, straightforward innocence that just goes right through whatever comes at it, like a knife, or bounces any attack off it, like a shield. And that really, really pisses off the Lone Power, so that It just keeps coming at him again and again, which is just the way Darryl wants it —
Nita pushed back from the table a little, leaning back in the chair and considering. Normally when the Lone Power turned Its attention to destroying a wizard during his or her Ordeal, It would lay out no more energy than It absolutely had to. The tendency not to waste energy unnecessarily was one It still shared with the other Powers. It didn’t waste Its time spending a lot of power on one wizard unless It knew that person was going to be something really special. Dairine, for example, Nita thought. It gave her a lot of grief because she was so young when her Ordeal hit. The kind of power she was going to have, even just for a while, was worth trying to knock out
But Darryl didn’t give Nita the same impression of huge and abrupt power that Dairine had, and the manual confirmed his power levels as being, while not unusually low, not unusually high, either.
So these repeated attacks suggest that the Lone Power knows Darryl’s one of the Pillars
, Nita thought. And killing an abdal has to be worth more to the Lone Power than just killing a wizard on Ordeal. Getting two for the price of one must look like an awful lot of fun to It.
But the game’s changed. Darryl’s not the only stuck one now!
Nita sat looking out into the front yard, watching the maple tree there shed little sparkles of snow into the air as a faint breeze moved its branches. If the Lone One finds out about this, It’s going to go ballistic
, Nita thought. It’s been having so much fun toying with Darryl that It doesn’t realize he’s turned the tables on It.
The Enemy will fight and fight again. I will hold It here, he said. He’s prolonging his Ordeal on purpose, running the Lone Power ragged —
But that can’t last forever. If there’s one thing the Lone Power hates worse than anything else, it’s someone laughing at It. The minute It discovers that Darryl’s tricking It, It’ll just kill him outright in the nastiest way It can.
Nita bit her lip. And that would be for It to make Darryl find out that he’s one of the Pillars. He loses the power. He dies. And the Lone Power gets back at the One, too, through Darryl’s death.
Her eyes narrowed as she remembered that mischievous smile, the courage in those dark eyesand thought of how long Darryl had been alone there in one or another of his worlds, righting, forgetting, fighting again, an endless battle with no hope of relief, no way to win… but with that valor always there, like shining armor.
Well, It’s not going to get Its way this time, Nita thought.
She got up and started picking up the banana skins lying around the dining room table. There’s been enough dying around here
, she thought. No more of it! As soon as Kit gets up, we’re going to sit down and make apian.
She headed upstairs to get dressed.
Complications
Kit stopped in the middle of the jungle path and looked around him. “We’re lost,” he said.
I don’t know if I’d say we, Ponch said, sounding ever so slightly reproachful.
Kit wiped the rain off his face and turned to look back the way they’d come. It was nearly impossible to see where that was, for the path they’d been following was scarcely any wider than he was. The jungle all around them was a tangle of dark reds and dark greens, huge trees and undergrowth, vines and creepers and strange-looking plants. High above, the upper canopy
of broad leaves held away the burning whiteness of the sky. Down here, precious little of that light reached; all the plants were in mud and blood colors, depressing… and the shadows in between them were worse. There were creatures in this jungle that had messy eating habits, and Kit had stopped looking into the shadowy places at the bases of the immense trees unless he absolutely had to.
“Where is he?” Kit said.
Ponch stood there with his nose working. I’m not sure, he said.
“You’re not sure?”
We didn’t do this the usual way
, Ponch said. For one thing, neither of us is awake. For another, you went in first, and I followed you because I didn’t want you going in here alone. And you didn’t bring the leash.
Kit sighed and put out his hand. “Leash,” he said.
Nothing happened.
You tried that before
, Ponch said, and it didn’t work then, either.
Kit sighed and wiped the rain out of his eyes again. At least the rain was warm, which was a good thing because it never really stopped; even when the hot sky above it wasn’t actively raining, the jungle floor got more or less constantly dripped on.
So which way
? Ponch said.
“We might as well keep on down this path,” Kit said. “We’re bound to run into Darryl eventually.”
A high-pitched scream came out of the gloomy creeper-hung darkness ahead of them. Assuming that doesn’t run into him first, Ponch said. Or that it doesn’t run into us first.
“Come on,” Kit said. He slogged down the muddy path, and Ponch padded along behind him, glancing nervously into the shadows of the trees and the undergrowth on either side of the path.
The path made a curve around one unusually large tree. Kit paused, looking at it, and went slowly around the curve. “Darryl?” he shouted. “Where are you?”
There was no answer but another of the bloodcurdling screeches from up in the canopy. Kit knew, in a general sort of way, that there was no guarantee that what he was hearing up there was a carnivore…but there was no guaranteeing that it wasn’t, either. He reached sideways to his otherspace pocket, thinking about the barbecue-lighting laser…and couldn’t find the pocket, let alone the laser.
You tried that before, too
, Ponch said.
“I forgot,” Kit said. He wiped his face again. It wasn’t rain he was wiping away this time, but sweat. The heat here was terrible — stifling, muffling, like wearing a portable electric blanket — but far worse was the humidity. If there was anything in the normal world that Kit really hated, it was hot, humid weather. In this place, though, it seemed like all the spare humidity from any number of jungle planets had been gathered up and dumped here. The sweat was running into his eyes, making them burn. Kit paused long enough to wipe his face again, then continued around the tree, looking at it suspiciously. “I keep expecting Darth Vader to come out of one of these and chase me with a light saber.”
I don’t think that’s a good thing for you to be imagining
, Ponch said, sounding unnerved. Let’s stick to Darryl for now. And once we’ve found him, let’s get out of here!
They went on under the trees. Not far ahead, trees shorter than the gigantic two-hundred-footers were gathered together in a cluster, and the path wound through them. It seemed to Kit that this looked like a perfect place for some kind of ambush… yet somehow he felt unable to take the prospect seriously. He slowed down a little, but kept walking.
Something smells bad here
, Ponch said.
“Everything smells bad here,” said Kit. The whole jungle had a smell like wet laundry that had been left in the washing machine too long, a stagnant scent. Some of the creepers were even festooned with something that might have been mistaken for wet laundry, though the growth was actually some kind of nasty, flabby fungus. Kit looked now with some loathing at the vines hanging from the red-trunked trees ahead of him; they had that fungus all over them, curtaining away the view of whatever might be further down the path.
“You smell anything?” Kit said.
Mold
, Ponch said, his nose wrinkling. And other things. I don’t want to talk about it.
Kit walked forward a little more slowly, looking at those trees, then looked over his shoulder again, back down the path. “I wish Nita were here,” he said.
I don’t
! Ponch said. I wouldn’t want anyone I liked to be here. And I don’t want us to be here, either! We’re not going to find him this way, boss. Let’s go home!
“Just a little while more,” Kit said. He was beginning to agree with Ponch, though. He was so tired. I should have walked out of here the minute I found myself in here, he thought, except I don’t remember how I got in here.
No, wait. I do remember. The dream. I dreamed I saw Darryl running into the jungle. I went after him…
There was a rustling among the trees that lined the path ahead of them. Kit reached sideways for his other-space pocket. Then, as he was feeling around for it, he remembered that it didn’t seem to be there in the dream. I keep forgetting things, he thought. I guess it’s just that I’m so tired. After yesterday, and the days before. But I can’t help it. We can’t leave him stuck in this. We have to find him!
There was definitely something moving around in those trees, though Kit couldn’t see what it was, and he didn’t want to go any closer without some kind of weapon. He had a memory that there should have been wizardries that he could use for self-defense, but he was just too tired to think of any of them right now. Kit looked around him, saw a fallen log to one side of the path. There was a branch sticking out of it that looked big enough to use as a club. He got down on one knee and struggled with the branch for a few moments until it snapped off the log. It was covered with dark brown goo, yet more mold of one kind or another. Kit made a face as he rubbed it off the branch as best he could, rubbed his hands more or less clean on his pants, and then got up. “Come on,” he said to Ponch.
High up in the jungle canopy, one of the invisible monsters started screaming again. Kit wanted to hold his ears against the noise of it, though that would have meant dropping the branch. Shortly the screamer was joined by a second, and they screamed at each other more and more loudly as Kit got closer to the trees.
One big creeper was hanging down over the path. It was well draped with the dirty-laundry fungus, and looked almost like a curtain. They were going to have to push through this. There was no avoiding it. Kit reached out one hand to the creeper, while above him in the trees the intolerable screeching got louder and louder. If there is something in there, Kit thought, I’m not going to be able to hear it if it’s coming for me.
Yet he felt he had to go in. “You ready?” he said to Ponch.
I’m right behind you. Be careful!
Kit pushed the creeper aside. The gloom beyond the curtain of fungus was even worse than that out in the shadow of the trees; it was danker, more stifling and breathless. Kit edged into it, let the curtain fallDarkness. Ponch was close behind him, crowded up against his legs. Any hope that Kit had had that being in this closed-in place might somewhat muffle the awful screeching from outside was in vain; if anything, it seemed worse. He moved softly among the trees, brushing past the downhanging loops and rags of fungus, trying not to touch them more than he had to. Where the fungus brushed him, he got an uncomfortable itchy feeling even through his shirt.
Kit started to move faster, though the weariness that had started to bother him when he came into this place was getting worse all the time. He was sure he could see shadows moving just beyond the trees that hemmed in the path. It might just have been more of the fungus, shifting in the wind, except that there was no wind. Something was moving there. Then, even over the screaming from above, Kit thought he heard a breathing sound—
He couldn’t bear it anymore. He broke into a run, and Ponch plunged along behind him. The awful fungus slapped him in the face and upper body as he ran
; Kit swatted it aside as best he could, but somehow it always seemed to get him anyway. Once he nearly throttled himself by running into a creeper that was hanging exactly at throat height. Kit reacted just in time to grab it, and used it to swing himself a little sideways — but then he banged into one of the closer trees and fell, and from above he could hear the screaming, louder than ever, sounding like laughter now.
Kit staggered to his feet and wobbled down the path again. His body didn’t seem to be working right, and he couldn’t understand why, unless it was just the weariness that was getting to him. His legs almost seemed to belong to someone else. His brain was full of noise that he couldn’t stop. He knew Ponch was behind him, but he had to keep reminding himself of that. He couldn’t get rid of the idea that he was all alone here, had been alone forever…
… except for something that hated him. It was hiding in the shadows. It was up in the furious brightness above the trees. It was dripping from every leaf, underfoot in every square inch of mud, looking at him with cruel, small, burning eyes from up among the branches of the trees. Kit ran, but his body wouldn’t obey him, wouldn’t let him run fast enough; he staggered along like some broken mechanical thing, and the screaming voices up above all laughed at him, and eyes, eyes he didn’t dare meet, eyes whose contact was infinite pain, were staring at him from all around in the dark. He would come out into the open again in a moment, but there would be no respite for him then, either, no escape. The worst of the eyes would be there, waiting for him, in the shape of what was going to kill him at last.